Roadside Attraction
by skybound2
Summary: It's half-past who the hell knows o'clock. The sun's up and he's yet to get any sleep, that's all that really matters about the time at the moment, far as Dean's concerned. It's also damn cold. Also: Is that a giant gorilla holding a Volkswagen in the air by one hand? / Written as part of the "All I Want for Christmas is Drowley" exchange for the prompt "Snow." (Dean/Crowley)


**Author's Note:** Written for _hekate1308_ as part of the "All I Want for Christmas is Drowley" gift exchange! This was for the Day 1 prompt, "Snow." Takes place in some amorphous winter time point in S12. All ref's to roadside attractions are legit places, honest to Chuck.

This one took on a life of it's own, and to be honest, I had a VERY hard time curbing it at 2,000 words. Like, I developed an entire HISTORY for these guys and roadside attractions that they've been to together, and this one random OC that has all of one line in the fic ended up with a whole backstory of his own now that ALSO didn't make it into this fic. So...there's a small possibility that I will revisit this verse again sometime in the future. After my other current WIPs are all done that is. Maybe.

All that aside, I hope you guys enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!

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It's half-past who the hell knows o'clock. The sun's up and he's yet to get any sleep, that's all that really matters about the time at the moment, far as Dean's concerned.

It's also damn cold. Dean can see his breath as it wafts out in front of his face; a threat of ice and snow building up around him. All things being equal, he'd rather be sitting down to a heaping helping of pancakes smothered in glorious maple syrup, or tucked away in a warm bed, then hanging out in an autoyard looking at...

"What the hell are we looking at here?"

Crowley shrugs, the movement shifting the demon's body just a hair closer to Dean. Neither of them move to accommodate the change. "Not sure. It's...certainly an interesting form of artistic expression."

"Art?" Dean cocks an eyebrow as he spares a glance to the man next to him. "It's a giant gorilla holding a Volkswagen in the air by one hand."

"Like I said, an interesting choice. Not my preferred style, but not everyone is as discerning as yours truly. It does have a certain panache, don't you think?"

Dean tries and fails to bite back a laugh. "Not the word I would use." Dean looks at the, _whatever it is_ , tilting his head to the side to see if that helps it make more sense.

It doesn't.

"Why's it holding a hand out like that?"

"That's for photo-ops, Squirrel. Shall we snap a selfie, for old time's sake?"

Dean snorts. An image flashing to the front of his mind from _that_ summer, when the two of them had ended up at some weird-ass ketchup festival and antique car show in Illinois. There may or may not be photographic evidence saved within the depths of Dean's phone (and Crowley's Flickr album), of him and the King of Hell looking absolutely ridiculous standing in front of the world's largest bottle of ketchup. The memory sends a bolt through Dean that's not quite nostalgia, but isn't all that far off either. "Nah. I'm good."

"Your loss, darling."

Dean shifts his weight a little, pressing back against the hood of the Impala until he can feel the cold of the metal seeping through his jacket. Crowley does the same a few scant inches away. This close to Dean, the demon's body heat is a tangible thing, and with his own body temperature dropping what feels like several degrees every second he stays outside, Dean finds he has to curb the urge to lean closer so that he can suck up some of that warmth for himself.

He should probably be worried that his initial reaction is to move _closer_ to the demon, but really, considering their history, he hardly thinks it matters.

Exhaustion seeping in at the edges, Dean yawns, a big open-mouthed breath. The action spurs on a full body shiver as he sucks in the frigid winter morning air. Which is when smattering of fat snowflakes hits the ground in front of them.

 _Snow. Great. That's, that's just great_.

"Cold, Squirrel?"

In time with the snarky question, a round droplet of snow lands on Crowley's forehead, melting instantly at the contact so that a droplet of water rolls down into the other man's eyes. He blinks his eyelids rapidly to brush it away. The action, comical as it is, is also - if Dean was willing to admit to such things, which he is _not_ \- a little endearing. Dean doesn't bother trying to bite back his laugh this time.

"Gotta little snow in your eye there, Boris?" The demon glares at him, grumbling out a nonverbal response and tucking his hands deeper into his coat pockets. Dean mirrors the action, pulling his jacket in closer to hold in what little warmth remains. As the snow begins to fall faster, he gives serious consideration to just getting back into the car. "How long we gotta wait here?"

"My contact should be here soon. Never fear."

Dean grunts in response. Trusting Crowley on that count. Crowley might not feel the cold the way that Dean does, but he doubts the demon wants to risk his suit by hanging out in this weather for much longer either.

The fact that Dean's willing to put _any_ amount of faith, or trust, in the things that Crowley says and does is another thing that should worry Dean.

But it doesn't, not really. He's past the point of trying to pretend like everything between them is the same as it always was. Hell, there's no use in trying to pretend like there _isn't_ a **between them** at all. Though sometimes the demon pulls shit that makes Dean wish he _could_.

Now's not one of those times though. Not so far as Dean can tell at least. No, at the moment, Crowley appears for all the world to be helping them. Again.

Which is why, despite the cold and falling snow, Dean is left in this weird space where hanging out with Crowley is more comfortable than anything else. Like he can just... _relax_ around him.

Doesn't mean he needs to stand outside like a fool while a blizzard rolls in. "Screw this. I'm waiting in the car."

He pushes off from the hood and makes his way to the driver's side, pulling the door open. He pauses before climbing in when he notices that Crowley hasn't moved an inch, scrunching his forehead in confusion in his direction. "You comin' or what?"

There's a brief flicker of surprise that passes over Crowley's face before he nods his head and heads to the passenger side, climbing in right as Dean starts the engine and turns the heat up.

His muscles relax as the heat begins to blast out of the vents in counterpoint to Sabbath coming out the speakers at a low volume, Baby revving to life around them

"This contact of yours - can we summon his ass to get him here any faster?"

"Not a demon, unfortunately. He'll be here."

"He better. We stick around much longer, we're gonna be stuck."

Logically, Dean knows that Crowley could leave whenever he wanted. The demon teleported here to meet Dean. It stands to reason he'll teleport out when their done.

Dean also knows that if he gets stuck here, Crowley isn't going anywhere.

"Why, Squirrel, don't want to be snowed in with me? I'm hurt." Crowley waggles his eyebrows. "We can huddle for warmth."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Keep dreamin', Crowley."

"Every night, Dean." The inflection on the words is heavier than Dean would expect. Not the light type of teasing they sometimes do, or the hotter, dirtier kind that they once indulged in (and that Crowley still tries to employ to his advantage on occasion). There's a serious quality to it that makes Dean's spine straighten.

Dean meets Crowley's gaze across the seats, trying to gauge the intent behind the words best he can. He's not sure exactly what he sees there, but he knows it's not what he was expecting. It makes something warm settle over him that has nothing to do with the forced air blowing at him from the dash. His tongue darts out to lick his suddenly dry lips. Focused as he is on Crowley's expression, he can't miss the way the demon's eyes follow the motion. When he speaks, his voice is rougher than it has any cause to be."Crowley..."

He's interrupted by a well-timed (or horribly timed, depending on your perspective) series of taps on the passenger side window.

Crowley sighs, turning away from Dean to look up and out the window, rolling it down after taking the time to observe the person on the other side, barking out an angry "What?!"

The contact, an oddly familiar looking frail man with sallow skin and tightly coiled hair that's begun to gray at the edges, doesn't seem at all bothered by Crowley's annoyed demeanor. Just hands him an oblong package wrapped in brown paper. "Your order, sir."

Crowley's countenance relaxes a fraction, though when he speaks it sounds a little strained to Dean. "Thank you, Gerald. You'll find your payment has been delivered to the usual address."

"Pleasure doing business, as always." Gerald tilts his head in a half nod, dark eyes glancing over Dean before he straightens and heads towards the giant gorilla statue. To Dean's astonishment, the man climbs into the thing's open hand (Crowley's self-proclaimed selfie spot), and takes a seat.

In the middle of the snowstorm.

Dean narrows his eyes in the man's general direction. Trying - and failing - to place him. "Your contact - I met him before?"

Crowley clucks his tongue. "You have, briefly."

Dean thinks back, surprised by the large quantity of people he's been introduced to - unwilling or not - by Crowley. A moment of reflection later, and it comes to him. "That the same odd bastard we met up with at the giant talking penguin statue?"

"One and the same." Crowley slides a glance at Dean, mouth curling up at the corners in the hint of a smirk that makes Dean wish he hadn't asked. Because while the giant talking penguin statue was hard to forget as far as weird-ass "art" pieces were concerned, the memory of the motel located at the same place - or rather, what Dean and Crowley had gotten _up to_ at said motel - is even harder to forget.

Dean swallows, hoping his cheeks aren't heating up as much as he suspects that they are. In a poorly concealed effort to deflect, he says "Dude's got a real thing for roadside attractions, huh?"

Crowley, to Dean's surprise, let's it go. "Gerald is...eccentric. Don't worry, he's harmless." He slips the package - still wrapped - beneath the seat, and claps his hands together, rubbing his palms briskly back and forth for a few seconds. "What do you say we get some breakfast? I know a place just a short drive away. Serves the best waffles you'll ever have."

Dean furrows his brow. "You're not gonna open it?"

Crowley shrugs. "No reason. It'll keep until after we've eaten."

Dean gaps at him. Wondering what the hell he called him out here for if all that was happening was a hand off for a package that Crowley can't even be bothered to _check_.

He says as much to Crowley, anger flaring through him the whole while. Crowley just huffs out a slow whiff of air in response. "Relax, Squirrel. I asked you here as backup, in case things went sideways. They didn't so…" He spreads his hands out, palms up. "It'll keep."

"What if it's not what it's supposed to be?"

Crowley just looks at Dean, holding his gaze for a half a beat longer than is really comfortable. His words are slow, and measured when he answers. "Then I'll have to activate the warding spell on Gerald's payment, won't I?"

Dean considers this for a moment, the anger draining out of him slowly at the explanation, thin as it is.

Trusting Crowley? Not all that easy yet. (But also not as difficult as it once would have been.)

Dean's not sure if that's progress, or something else. He knows what Sam's opinion on it would be. But Sam's not here, off chasing another lead with Cas instead, so Dean's not sure it matters what his brother would think.

"Now, breakfast?" There's a tight smile on Crowley's face as he makes the offer a second time, and Dean knows that he's well aware of what Dean's response is going to be.

It's almost enough to make Dean want to do the opposite, just to be contrary. Almost. Instead he does the expected, shaking his head. "Crowley-"

"Did I mention that they have bison sausage too?"

As if on queue, Dean's stomach growls. "Bison? Like bison bison? Not cow labeled as bison?"

"MmmHmm. Come on, Squirrel. Live a little. What's the point of coming to Vermont if you don't stop for something smothered in artery clogging genuine maple syrup?"

Dean thinks on it for a few moments. His stomach arguing in favor, his brain arguing against. He looks away from Crowley and towards the man sitting in the giant gorilla hand catching snow on his tongue, and makes a decision.

Dean wraps his hand around the gear shift, and puts the car in reverse, easing her back slow on the slippery snow. "Fine. But you're paying."

"Of course, darling. What kind a date would I be if I didn't?"

~End

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 **End Note:** And, YUP, all of the roadside attractions mentioned in this fic are real actual places that you can go to!


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